Sleeping with the Enemy (An Enemies to Lovers Collection)

She rides me and trembles on me, grinding on my nose, lips, and tongue. When I can tell she’s close, I set my hands on her waist and guide her down further and harder so I can thrust my tongue inside her and stroke her there. She cries out but doesn’t break the contact. Her hips swivel even harder, and I can feel her clenching around me, harder and tighter. Her walls are trembling, and I know she’s about to shatter.

So. Close. So. Freaking. Close.

And then, from somewhere in the distance, though not so distant enough, a phone rings.

And rings. And rings. And rings.

It doesn’t stop ringing.

Esme freezes.

“Don’t answer that,” I say from underneath her, but it sounds more like donph ampher dwak.

Maybe she’ll just ignore it, and I can get back to doing what I was doing so I can rock her world. Her legs are still wrapped around my face, which means if I pulled her down, I could taste her again. Maybe I could do like I said and put her on top of the counter and taste her that way too. Or take her to the bed and lap at her with my tongue until she comes a third time.

Christ. My dick is ready to blow, and thinking thoughts like that are only encouraging the fucker.

Soon, the phone stops ringing.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

But my relief is short-lived when the phone starts up again.

“Argh!” Esme cries, jumping off of me. She scrambles around the kitchen until she finds the source of the ringing. “Hello? Vera?” she pants.

I curse silently. I can’t just stay on the floor, so I sit up and watch her. It’s a mistake because Esme’s face is flushed, her lips are swollen, her pupils are totally blown, and she has an extremely frustrated look on her face that says she’d rather be coming right now on top of my face than answering the damn phone.

“I thought it was an emergency!” Esme pauses. “No! No, I don’t need a ‘sextervention.’ What’s a ‘sextervention’ anyway? Oh, like an intervention, but for sex. Why would you think I was having sex? I’m not having sex!” She barely gets her words out, and it’s so strangled sounding that it’s totally obvious she’s lying. “We weren’t looking at each other any kind of way at dinner.” Esme sighs. “No, the chemistry was most definitely not smoking.” The conversation continues on the other side, then Esme sighs again. “Yes, yes, I’m very sure I’m fine. Have a good night. You’re welcome. Yeah, I thought it was good too—the steak. Jesus, you’re impossible. Yes, yes, of course, I love you. Okay, bye.” She hangs up, holds the side buttons on her phone down until it turns off, and basically chucks it back into the pile of clothes on the floor before turning back to look at me.

We stare each other down, and it’s an awkward moment of wondering if we should continue or not. I want her to tell me what she wants to do, even if it’s non-verbally, so I let her decide.

“Maybe we can, uh…” Esme’s panting. Then, she pauses and stares at me some more. “Maybe we can continue this in the bedroom. The floor’s kind of hard, and my knees were locking up.”

“Hmm.”

“What? Is the bedroom too vanilla for you?”

“Definitely not! What’s wrong with vanilla?”

She flushes even brighter as I grin. “You’re ridiculous,” she mutters.

“Is that a good thing?”

She rolls her eyes but walks over and kneels down in front of me. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she kisses my forehead, my nose, then my lips. “Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, it’s a good thing.”

That’s all I need to hear. I gather Esme up in my arms, hold her against my chest, and stand up, all in a single swift movement. The bedroom might be vanilla in some people’s books, but not in mine. And even if it was? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with vanilla.

I guess Esme is planning to pick a different flavor, or maybe she likes vanilla too because she drags my face down to hers and kisses me so hard that I just about walk straight into the wall on my way out of the kitchen.

CHAPTER 15

Esme

Wilder sets me down right in front of his bed. I know he has a patchwork quilt that looks like something his grandma might have made for him, and also blue cotton sheets. I only know this because I snuck the fake plastic spider into his bed. I wasn’t trying to creep around his room or anything.

After giving him about half a second to regain his bearings, I start kissing him like there’s no tomorrow. I then use what little advantage of surprise I have and all my slight weight to basically climb him like a really thick, impressive, delicious tree. He might not have been expecting it, or I might have used too much brute force because Wilder’s legs hit the bed, and next thing I know, we’re both falling.